


Good Night, Psych Ward. Good Night.

by PerpetuallyConcupiscent



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Gen, Psychologists & Psychiatrists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2406395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerpetuallyConcupiscent/pseuds/PerpetuallyConcupiscent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil Palmer huddles with perfect posture and murmurs to the other inhabitants of the psych ward, keeping the public informed about the dangers that exist only within his head. Only Carlos, with his perfect hair, has managed to have a (somewhat) rational discussion with the man with the purple eyes, but this tiny bit of progress isn't enough; homeless "radio broadcasters" cannot be given free mental healthcare forever, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night, Psych Ward. Good Night.

They’re really going to miss him when he leaves. The man known as Cecil Baldwin, with the soothing voice and an overactive imagination, has been here for over a year now, and his time is almost up. They found him, you know. Brought him in off the streets, heard him monologuing about secret police and figured him for just another dime-a-dozen tramp. In whatever world he’s living in, though, he’s not the lunatic but the informer, keeping his beloved citizens safe from whatever terrible development his psychotic brain has unleashed upon his so-called “Night Vale.”

Sometimes, they notice, trickles of reality ooze into his delusions. Attempts at animal therapy lead to the discovery of a hovering cat in the imaginary radio station’s restroom. A slight bug problem turns into cockroach mobs engineering spontaneous subway systems. The rotation of aides manifests itself as a series of interns prone to violent and horrific deaths, for which he extends his sincerest condolences.

He seems to think he’s protecting them, this poor sad murmurer, to the best of his imagined ability. But even within his own psyche, he cannot even keep himself safe, fearful of the unknown horror he refers to as “station management” and terrified of both the mundane (“kidnapped by librarians at an impressionable age?” the doctors speculate) and spectacular (“did some neon light show cause a fear of glow clouds?” they wonder).

It’s clear that the only reason he’s been allowed to stay past the normal one-year trial period is his deep-seated affection for Carlos, the closest thing Cecil has to a grasp on reality.

Carlos and his hair appear to be the only things Cecil has been able to recognize for what they are. Cecil sees Carlos as a scientist, an investigator, and, later, a friend. The doctors see Carlos as a scientist (of psychology), an investigator (into Cecil’s subconscious) and the only thing keeping Cecil anywhere near reality. Every week, Carlos sits down in Cecil’s corner, where the latter is somehow managing to huddle with perfect posture. His radio persona is clearly intact, his fear of—no one has actually managed to discern—clearly reigning. Carlos discusses, as rationally as possible, the differences between Cecil’s internal Night Vale and the world outside of his own head, which Cecil, in character as always, calmly listens to then genially dismisses. They’re worried, though. This past week, the discussion took place in something more akin to an interrogation room with no visible doors, but Cecil processed this as a romantic evening at some eerie Italian restaurant. Without, of course, wheat or wheat by-products.

So they’ve given Carlos a week to fix it. Cecil has no one. No one to provide the money it costs the institution to take care of lost causes as hopeless as his. And, more importantly, no one to care if he…well…stops receiving that care.

Carlos spends the week almost entirely with Cecil, going home only to sleep, but nothing has changed. Cecil is visibly happier to see more of his favorite scientist, but remains firmly convinced that they are both spending time in Night Vale, despite the multitudes of medicinal adjustments he has been through in the past year. Carlos is getting desperate. He has only one more day to try and make a difference in the life of this man he has come to care for, this lost cause with the beautiful purple eyes and astonishingly vivid imagination. And so it comes to pass that Carlos gets caught speeding to the institution one morning and is, therefore, late to his last meeting with Cecil.

When Carlos arrives, the doctors look up, almost guiltily, refusing to make eye contact. Carlos is pointed down the hallway, not to the spot where Cecil normally huddles to broadcast, but to the room from which he will not exit. Carlos runs toward the man on a bed with hospital corners and memories of death and arrives in time to see the empty syringe being removed from the self-proclaimed host of community radio. Carlos shakes his head once, twice, then yells at the intern still hovering uselessly around Cecil’s strapped-down self. The intern scurries away and Carlos slumps to the chair next to Cecil’s head. 

“God, Cecil, no,” the scientist with the perfect, perfect hair moans. “No, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Cecil’s eyes flutter open, and he turns his head blearily toward Carlos, though it’s clear the injection has already hit his bloodstream.

“Cecil. Cecil, it’s going to be okay. I—“ Carlos’ throat closes for a minute, too long, and he grasps Cecil’s cool hand, afraid he won’t have time to say goodbye. “Cecil, I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop them. …it. …station management, they—well, the pulled the plug on—on your show. I think they knew that—well, that you were too good for them. They were scared of how much you really saw about the world and of your beautiful radio voice and—” Cecil’s mouth twitches at this. “But, the good news is, now we can explore the dog park if we want! I’ve heard it’s great, Cecil. Really good reviews on…on Yelp, and…God. You don’t deserve this, really you don’t. I’m…so proud to know you, Cecil, and I’m so, so sorry.” Carlos closes his eyes for a minute, squeezing Cecil’s hand tightly, and by the time the scientist opens his eyes, Cecil is gone. An emptiness now resides in those purple eyes, formerly so full of life—well, and fear. Carlos wipes his own eyes gruffly with the sleeve of his lab coat, stands, and then bends to gently close Cecil’s bright purple eyes. 

“Good night, Cecil. Good night.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was advised to put in a warning for sensitive folks, about the major character death, but didn't want to spoil it for absolutely everyone, so, here we are!


End file.
